Drawing on Skin
by ToniosKuramaKid
Summary: Jehan always drew on the others, but there were never any designs on himself. No pairings, implied abuse.
1. Chapter 1

_Short oneshot I created really late at night. I don't own anything. _

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Jean Prouvaire. Jehan, to his friends. The sweet little poet and artist, always ready with a soft smile and gentle display of affection.

One of his hobbies was drawing intricate designs on his friends. He had beautiful coloured pens, and oftentimes at meetings could be seen doodling on the arm of one person or the face of another. From gentle branches, to birds, to flowers, wings, cracked glass, any sort of pattern could be seen on any of the Amis at any time.

There was only one person who was never seen with the drawings on their skin. For once, it wasn't even the bold leader. No, Enjolras hadn't been able to resist that face either, and had actually gotten things ranging from flags to swords on multiple occasions. There was even an instance involving dance and Robespierre that somehow ended up drawn down his entire back (which is another story entirely.)

No, the person without marks was the artist himself. It wasn't as if he couldn't, he always had the ability to. He could draw on either arm, since he was ambidextrous, but even if he wasn't he would still have his legs and stomach. But no, remaining in long pants, boots, and oversized sweaters never revealed any sort of design.

That was because Jehan hid a secret, a secret not even his closest friends knew. The gentle, innocent boy didn't have a life as sweet as he was. In fact, his life was not what anyone deserved or should have to live through. He was hurt at home, badly and repeatedly. From wearing flowery pants to weaving petals into his long flowing hair, he was the exact opposite of what he was expected to be.

But no one ever did question why Jehan was the only one who never displayed those delicate designs on his skin. So they kept on living, just as they were.


	2. Chapter 2

_This was honestly only going to be a one shot, I never had any plans to continue. I have this chapter, but I can't promise anything after this..._

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The previous night had been a rough one for Jehan. His father had been careless and a lot harsher than normal. The shy boy was rather subdued during the meeting. He wasn't paying any attention, and his sketchbook was held secretively on his lap as he drew something. This was beginning to concern Courfeyrac, as Jehan normally didn't draw on paper, and when he did it was always out in the open.

It took a while for the wily teen to get Jehan's attention, but once he did, he noticed that a sudden happy mask was on the poet's face. This caused Courfeyrac to worry more.

"You okay?" He asked quietly as the meeting continued around them.

"Yes, of course." Jehan smiled softly, the gentle sentiment not reaching his eyes. Courfeyrac's eyebrows furrowed, and he pursed his lips.

"If you're sure…" He complied, deciding to keep an eye on his younger friend, at least for the time being.

Jehan nodded with the same smile before going back to his paper. As soon as his gaze returned to his drawing, the grin dropped and his face became somber. He was tired, in pain, and really wished Enjolras would just shut up and get off the table.

Courfeyrac was subtly trying to look at Jehan's paper, but his perspective just wasn't good enough to get a look. He groaned softly in frustration, wishing the boy would just talk truthfully already.

Eventually, the meeting wore down to a close and people mingled out, leading back to their respective lodging residences. Soon, the only people to remain were Jehan, who was too absorbed in his work to even notice, and Courfeyrac, who had stayed to make sure the artist was alright.

"Jehan, you realize everyone has left now, right?"

Jehan started soft eyes wide. "What time is it?" He asked gently, but frantically.

"It's almost midnight by now." Courfeyrac said after taking a glance at the clock.

Jehan jumped up, pencil still in his hand, but drawing pad on the table as he grabbed his messenger bag and flung it over his shoulder with a slight wince. "I have to go now… night Fey!" Jehan called as he raced out the door.

"Wait!" Courfeyrac shouted after him, stumbling out of his chair to try and catch up. After taking a few steps, he sighed in resignation of being unable to catch up. His gaze dropped to the table, where the sketchbook lay forgotten.


End file.
